


And I think to myself (what a wonderful world)

by BeanieBaby



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Don't copy to another site, Fix-It, Multi, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Sam Wilson vs Wakandan Jungle, Spoilers, Thor makes the snap, no one dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 13:50:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18624544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeanieBaby/pseuds/BeanieBaby
Summary: “You know, if you’d planned to come back as a legendary LGBTQ+ icon, you could’ve given us a heads up, Cap,” Sam says drily.“Was it as awesome as it looked?” Bruce asks.“Steve thumbs his lower lip thoughtfully and smiles, “Best kiss of my life."(Post-Endgame Fix-it.)





	And I think to myself (what a wonderful world)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [And I think to myself (what a wonderful world)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22181995) by [RestinPeace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RestinPeace/pseuds/RestinPeace)



> AN: I actually wrote this word vomit the moment I walked out of the premier four days ago before I said on the other fic that I was pretty much quitting the MCU. I still am quitting. Real Life will get busy as I will be headed back to school in the fall (law this time), and the way the Russos treated Steve and Bucky’s last scene together hurt me beyond words. Peggy was always an icon of the strong and independent woman for me, and this ending felt like a slap to the face and a denial of who she really was, as well as an insult to Steve and Bucky's bond. I rather Steve sacrificed himself instead of Tony, I’d be okay with him passing on the shield and maybe dying in Bucky’s arms. But hey, that’s just me. 
> 
> However, a few backs and forths with my long-time readers made me realize that hey, the Russos got to show us their fanfic version of Steve Rogers, why the hell shouldn’t I? So here’s my last new fic for the MCU verse. with Loki, crack, and a little Stucky butt sex thrown in, because why the hell not? 
> 
> Wrote this listening to Wonderful World by Sam Cooke, but used the Louis Armstrong lyric as the title. 
> 
> #NotMySteveRogers

“You got an extra vial of Pym Particle,” Bruce tells him when he’s got the machine up and running. He sighs when Steve frowns in confusion, “any point in time, Cap. You got something you really want to cross off the bucket list?”

He doesn’t really. Steve just wants a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

Then a hand lands on his shoulder and Bucky, newly risen from the ashes and somehow still impeccably clean after the shit-show they’d just gone through, smiles and prompts, “you owe a certain dame a dance, pal.”

“Tony’s still passed out, Thor’s having a go in one of those fancy Wakandan healing fridges after using the stones, and Nat hasn’t stopped hugging Clint since the paramedics arrived. Nobody but the three of us would know, and trust me, none of us are gonna tell,” Sam adds when Steve glances at him. “You of all people deserve it, man.”

The weird crossbred abomination that is Bruce and the Hulk flashes a double thumbs up at him. Steve sighs and walks onto the landing pad. Mjölnir flies into his hand.

“Showoff,” Bucky rolls his eyes and stuffs his hands into his jacket. “Don’t do anything stupid, Rogers.”

“How can I?” Steve smirks, “you’re the stu—”

Bucky slams his metal fist over the start button before he can finish the insult and the breath whooshes out of him not dissimilar to a hard punch to the gut. Steve figures he kinda deserved it.

 

* * *

 

With bated breath, he walks into that little London pub in 1943.

“Pfffff,” Someone snorts loudly, “holy shit, Stevie. Did you get a bomb dropped on you the way here? Why’re you covered in dirt and wearin’ that monkey suit?”

It’s not until he sees Bucky sitting at the bar that Steve realizes how stupid he must look soaked from head to toe in outrider blood and face caked with drying mud. Bucky, the smug little bastard, is pretty as a picture in his crisp uniform.

“Long story,” Steve dismisses the question and makes a beeline for him. His best friend lets out a soft surprised grunt when Steve reels him into tight hug. He’s probably smearing all sorts of alien bodily fluids over Bucky’s brand new clothes, but he’s warm and real and everything feels just right.

Bucky’s breath tickles the shell of Steve’s ear. “Did you find Dum Dum’s secret stash of liquor and drink it all?”

“Nope.”

“Ok, just checking,” Bucky sighs, “you’re acting real strange you know that, buddy?”

He should answer, but the loud click of a 1940’s camera going off makes them both turn. Bucky scowls at the small bespectacled man sitting at the end of the bar, “Why don’t you stow the camera before I make you, mister. Cap’s not on stage right now.”

He misses this Bucky so much it hurts.

“Hey, heads up, Steve,” His best friend says and jerks his chin at something behind Steve’s shoulder, lips thinning as he takes a weary step back. Steve doesn’t need to turn to know what or who it is that’s standing in the doorway of the pub.

His lady in red. His star-crossed love.

“Captain,” Peggy says.

“Miss Carter,” Steve breathes.

 

* * *

 

The dance is everything Steve’s ever dreamed of and more. Peggy’s smile is dazzling in the dim light; the sultry, flirty music a mere whisper in the back of his minds as Steve spins her around the room. The pub’s not a grand place, but somehow the floor seems to stretch on for miles around them. In the corner of Steve’s vision, he spots Bucky’s self-deprecating little smile as the barman tops off his drink. Lost and lonely. Sitting there all by himself.

“Thank you, Peggy,” He finds himself saying, fingers untangling from hers. Steve takes a step forward, his shoulder brushing hers, and then he takes another, and another. Away from his lost love and toward his soulmate. Bucky looks up, those brilliant blue eyes filling with confusion.

Almost in a trance, he reaches out, grabs onto the lapel of that sharp crisp sergeant’s uniform and dips Bucky into the best kiss of Steve’s life. Right there and then in that tiny London pub in 1943.

Past the elated pounding of his heart, Steve hears the loud snap of a camera.

 

* * *

 

Bucky falls to his knees the moment Steve reappears on the landing pad. Without thinking, he drops Mjölnir at his feet and hurries to his best friend’s side. Bucky’s trembling like a leaf when Steve asks him what was wrong.

He gets a fist to the jaw.

“You idiot, you colossal idiot,” Bucky chokes out, breaking into a stumbling run away from him.

“You know, if you’d planned to come back as a legendary LGBTQ+ icon, you could’ve given us a heads up, Cap,” Sam says drily and shows him a Time magazine cover with their picture and the words _**The Original Kiss** _stamped across its page on his phone.

“Was it as awesome as it looked?” Bruce asks.

Steve thumbs his lower lip thoughtfully. His mouth is still tingling.

“Best kiss of my life,” Steve smiles at them and begins to make the long trek back to T’Challa’s palace on foot.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes to the sound of Morgan’s voice. “I love him a million and one, then.”

“Fine, I love him a billion. How about that?” Peter retaliates.

“A billion and one.” Morgan again. Pepper laughs quietly in the background.

“A trillion.”

Are they actually climbing over him while he’s passed out and possibly harboring internal injuries?!

“A trillion and one!” Morgan declares, her elbow and/or knee pressing painfully into Tony’s groin. He yelps in pain and both Peter and Morgan scream, startling Pepper who subsequently drops her scalding hot Wakandan tea all over Tony’s front.

“Seriously? Are you guys actively trying to kill him?” The princess rushes over and pulls Tony’s flailing body into an upright position. “Gently, please! We just finished patching him up five minutes ago.”

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Pepper groans, covering her mouth with both hands and looking absolutely horrified. The little urchins that had been crawling all over him just a minute ago are slowly backing away with identical expressions of guilt on their faces.

“I’m not that delicate,” Tony rolls his eyes and opens his arms. “Come here, all of you.”

Morgan squeals in delight at the explicit permission and tackles him in a tight hug. Tony drags his little protege into the pile as well and feels Pepper’s hand, soft and warm, settle tenderly over the back of his head, her fingers carding through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“Infinity, Tony, that’s how much we love you,” She whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 

* * *

 

“Guess I’m walking back to the city alone,” Sam says to himself as the Hulk disappears into the distance, setting off flocks of panicked birds in his wake.

“Again.”

 

* * *

 

“You could bring them here,” T’Challa says as they walk through the crowds of smiling faces. Birnin Zana shines bright as day in celebration of their victory against Thanos. Around them are throngs of happy faces, young and old. Thor wishes he could felt an ounce of their joy instead of the empty hollow void inside his chest.

“Bring whom?” Thor asks absently, pausing to inspect a finely crafted set of vibranium daggers.

 _Loki would like them,_ he thinks as he runs a thumb over the edge of the blade and feels a familiar bite of pain.

“New Asgard,” The king of Wakanda elaborates, “my people are still in awe of the fair-haired god and his prowess in battle.”

Thor smiles down at the drop of blood trickling down his hand. An hour ago, that hand had been a dry shriveled husk when Ironman had finally pried the burnt gauntlet off of him. “I appreciate the offer but—”

“Both of our nations need to rebuild after what happened,” T’Challa explains patiently, “the technology here in Wakanda is most similar to that of Asgard. I am sure your people will enjoy having some familiarity in their lives once more.”

“How much for the daggers?” Thor asks the old crone in the tent instead. She squints at him and holds up five fingers.

“Six coins,” T’Challa interrupts before Thor could speak. He hands her six golden pieces, no more no less. “A king’s discount, wise mother.”

She shakes her head at him and says something that Thor has trouble translating into Allspeech. T’Challa throws his head back and laughs before nodding at Thor, “collect your knives, God of Thunder. They belong to you now.”

“They were once my brother’s weapon of choice,” Thor murmurs, peering down at the two slim blades and their intricate designs. They look absurdly small in his massive palm.

“Smart choice,” T’Challa says kindly, “knives are for delicate work.”

“Loki _was_ delicate, soft and pretty like a girl, not that I mean it as an insult,” Thor shrugs. He stumbles when a hulking behemoth of a man shoulders past him without so much as a passing glance.

“Apologies, the mountain tribe warriors can be a little wary of fair-skinned foreigners,” T’Challa explains, but Thor’s too busy staring at the man’s back to listen. For a moment there, he thought he’d seen—

Then, the tribesman turns a corner and Thor gets a clear glimpse of the man's eyes. They are a familiar poisonous green. His fingers fly to the pouch where he’d just deposited the knives and comes up empty except for a strand of green leather woven into the shape of a garden snake.

Thor’s favorite toy when he was little.

“Your highness!” T’Challa calls after Thor as he breaks into a run.

 

* * *

 

“Bucky, wait!”

“You selfless idiot!”

Steve dodges the metal arm swinging at his face and gasps, “can you at least tell me which part you’re mad about?”

“Which part do you think, asshole?” Bucky yells, red crawling up his neck as some of the celebration crowd turn to stare at them curiously.

“The kiss?” Steve ventures timidly. “I’m sorry?”

“You could have had it all, you stupid, pigheaded—” He hisses through his teeth at the infuriatingly perfect man staring back at him. “Marry the gal of your dreams, win the war, and forget about me,” His voice cracks, and Bucky hates himself for the moment of weakness, “you could have stayed with the love of your life and you chose to come back to this?”

“I chose to come back to you,” Steve snaps, suddenly dead serious, “and I wasn’t selfless, if anything I was fucking selfish to the core.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asks wearily.

“I could’ve gone to that train in the Alps,” He admits, shoulders sagging, “I could’ve prevented you from falling into the ravine and erased every horrible thing Hydra ever inflicted on you or forced you to do. But I didn’t.”

“Why not?” Bucky can’t help but ask.

“Because I love you, and my love is selfish, Buck,” Steve says with a mirthless smile, “I was going to crash that plane no matter what and I wanted to open my eyes to a world that you were still in. You said you were going to take me to the future, didn’t you?”

“You can’t love me,” Bucky laughs, high and shaky, the laugh of a person on the verge of having a panic attack, “Peggy, I mean the way you looked at her—”

“I chose to go back to that moment because I made a promise to a strong, beautiful girl who deserved the world, Buck,” He says calmly, “I do love and respect Miss Peggy Carter, but I fell in love with you a long time before that.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky says, just for the heck of it. He’s feeling pretty daring tonight, what with the whole coming back from the grave and surviving the apocalypse. He’s got an almost objective intellectual curiosity about how far he can push Steve before he snaps.

A vein pulses in Steve’s neck.

“Night of Christmas Eve, 1932.” He bites out savagely, “you leaned over on that church pew and told me Father Jacob’s wrinkly old face looked exactly like your grand-daddy’s left testicle. I laughed so hard I had an asthma attack and we skipped the sermon to go ice-skating in Central Park. You were a dick and made fun of me when I kept slipping, and to make things worse, you spent most of the time chatting up older girls.”

Bucky winces. “That’s some memory you got, Rogers.”

He’s feeling oddly giddy and a little lightheaded for some reason.

“Yeah, I remember every girl you ever dated,” Steve sighs, rolling his eyes, “and I realized then and there that I’d fallen for the biggest asshole in all of Brooklyn.”

They stand there for a moment, both breathing hard from the long trek.

Then, Bucky turns and says, “Fuck it, I’m eloping with the talking raccoon and the teenage tree.”

“James Buchanan Barnes!”

 

* * *

 

“Wong, I think I’m having an allergic reaction to this Wakandan salad.” Doctor Strange coughs.

“What?”

“Did not see that happening. I’m going to need you to get me an epipen right now.”

 

* * *

 

“Where’s Gamora?” Rocket asks Quill. He’s sitting on the steps alone, two half-eaten kebabs clutched in one hand and staring off into the distance.

“Dude, get a hold of yourself,” Rocket groans, utilizing the only mode of affection known to him and kicks Peter in the left knee.

“Oow, you furry little son of a—”

“Where’s Gamora, Peter?” Rocket presses. He sighs and shakes his head, “she went back to her time, I think.”

“Yeah?” Rocket can’t help the crippling sense of disappointment that falls over him at the words. He wriggles onto the step next to Quill and steals one of the kebabs.

“Hey! That was mine!” Quill whines, face scrunching up like a distressed baby, “I bought those with the weird little credit disks the king gave us earlier. Get your own, asshole.”

“Do you really want to keep stuffing your face, Fat Quill?”

“Hey, I did not consent to being call that, Rocket,” Peter pouts, “body shaming is not ok.”

Rocket gnaws off a piece of meat, “Yeah well, you had no issues laughing your head off for fifteen minutes straight when you saw Thor’s beer gut and man boobs.”

“What, I’m allowed to process my feelings about my missing girlfriend,” He protests before asking in a much more tentative tone, “do you think Gamora will ever come back to us?”

“Give the girl some time,” Rocket advises, patting him on the shoulder, “if not, we can always track her down ourselves. With Thanos gone, the whole galaxy is at our fingertips.”

“Maybe she needed to go back to find an actual reason to like you,” A voice says from behind them.

“Maybe,” Quill agrees vaguely before shooting to his feet, eyes going wide at the sight of the woman standing there, “Gamora?! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough, Fat Quill,” She smirks and pulls him into a kiss.

Rocket groans and steals Peter’s other kebab purely out of spite and wanders off to find Groot. He’s meandering along with the crowd when someone picks him up by the nape of the neck and asks, “does the offer to get off the planet still stand?”

“Is the arm still attached to you?” Rocket shoots back the moment he sees that it is the brown-haired sniper from before, “if so, then yes, the offer still stands. Also, a friendly reminder to you and your immediate family, if you ever pick me up like a month-old kitten again, I’mma fucking scratch your eyes out.”

“Deal,” Barnes says flatly, hoisting him into his arms like an infant. It’s fucking humiliating, that’s what.

“No, no deal, you’re not eloping with a rabid animal,” The blond captain that Groot had spoken so fondly of earlier appears out of nowhere, and before Rocket can escape, hauls Barnes in with a hand to the back of his neck and presses their mouths together. It has the unfortunate side effect of mashing Rocket’s face into his rock hard pecs.

“Somebody shoot me in the head,” He mumbles miserably into Steve Rogers’ all-American chest.

 

* * *

 

“Seriously?” Sam groans in dismay, lifting his foot from a pile of cold rhino dung. Somewhere in the forest, an animal growls.

 

* * *

 

The knife that flies at his face nicks Thor’s left cheek when he stumbles into the empty alley after Loki, but the brief spark of pain is nothing against the tidal wave of joy he feels when he throws both arms around the familiar figure of his brother and hangs on for dear life.

“I am not soft and pretty like a girl,” is the first thing Loki says, tugging viciously on one of Thor’s dreadlocks, and somehow that opens up the waterworks. Thor manages to suppress the first sob into Loki’s shoulder as storm clouds gather rapidly over their heads in echo of his mood. He has not cried like this in centuries, but rain, warm and wet and utterly endless, pours from the skies.

“I did not come here so that you can drown me in your tears, brother,” Loki sighs quietly, but he does not pull away, nor does he attempt to shield himself from Thor’s grief, so they stand there together, in that tiny empty alley millions of light years away from home, and Loki allows him to cry until all the grief drains from Thor’s body.

“Now who’s the girl?” Loki teases low in his ear when Thor calms enough to control the storm.

“Still you,” He takes a few rattling gulps of air and rubs at his face, “ever seen a maiden as ugly as I am right now?”

“It does not hide the fact that you have our mother’s eyes, Thor, and she was the most beautiful person in all the Nine Realms,” Loki says, brushing the tangled rat’s nest away from Thor’s face. “You know, I rather liked it when they shaved you bald on Sakaar. Bet you screamed like the princess you are.”

“I don’t recall, perhaps we should ask the Hulk, dear brother,” Thor returns Loki’s sharp grin with one of his own, “he’d be so glad to find out that you’re here.” Loki has a dagger against Thor’s stomach in the blink of an eye, but he merely laughs and says, “I’ve got so much padding on me I doubt your little knives will actually penetrate the fat.”

“Stop saying things like that, Thor,” Loki hisses angrily, the blade dissolving into thin air, “this,” he pauses to gesture at Thor’s soft chest, “this isn’t you.”

“But you do like them, brother?” He asks eagerly, “the knives I mean, not the moobs,” Thor clarifies hurriedly at Loki’s visible alarm. "I thought of you when I saw them in the market earlier.”

He expects his little brother to say something insulting again, but Loki simply smiles and says—

“Aye, I do.”

 

* * *

 

“Heard what you did back there,” Tony says to Nebula, following along at a much more sedated pace behind Pepper and Morgan. They’re both wearing silken Wakandan gowns, Pepper’s long red hair spilling like fire across her shoulders as she weaves gracefully through the celebration. She laughs at something their daughter says and Tony thinks he’d be content to just stare at them like this for the rest of his life.

“It had to be done,” Nebula says stiffly and averts her gaze. “I couldn’t let that older version of me destroy what we tried so hard to get back.”

“I’ll pay for the therapy,” Tony vows, “heck, I’ll pay for everybody’s therapy. We can have a therapy circle every Wednesday night instead of game night.”

“Game night? Is there killing involved?”

“God, I sometimes forget how awful your childhood must have been,” He sighs and pauses to meet her eyes, “Nebula, remember that silly little paper game we played on the ship? How would you like to see a real football game, hmm? Just you and me.”

Nebula frowns. “How?”

Tony throws a hand over her shoulder and laughs, “Honey, you’re on Earth now, and there’s nothing on Earth that money can’t buy, and I happen to have a lot of money, or my wife does since she’s CEO.” He smiles at her, “Promise it’ll be a million times better than our match. We’ll get hot dogs, nachos, and crappy beer.”

“Can we play football?” She asks, “in the actual field I mean.”

“We can, but you’d probably kick my ass,” Tony shrugs, “what do you say?”

Nebula smiles, “I’m in.”

 

* * *

 

“This is so cool,” Peter gushes, eyes shining as he roams Shuri's R&D lab, “you’re a genius. Seriously, how are you not out there ruling the world right now?”

“It’s nice to be appreciated sometimes,” She grins at Okoye who rolls her eyes and leads him into the the elevator so they can head to her brother’s private lab. They don’t get very far down the hallway before Shuri notices a dark jacket strewn haphazardly on the floor leading to T’Challa’s quarters. She picks it up curiously and notes the vibranium lining. It’s one of their people’s.

Okoye picks up another piece farther along, pants this time, and she’s definitely seen those before. The village children had spilled white paint all over Barnes’s left trouser leg once and the stain had never washed out. She met Okoye’s wide eyes. “Is my brother—”

“It can’t be true,” The general sputters.

“Hey guys, look what I found!” Peter calls out from the other end. He holds up the dirty costume like it’s a flag, and though it’s covered in grime, Shuri can still make out the faded white star in the middle. An even worse idea occurs to her.

“Oh no.”

 

* * *

 

T’Challa sneezes.

“Bless you,” The tiny brunet girl perched on Tony Stark’s shoulder chirps at him.

“Thank you,” He mouths at her with a smile.

 

* * *

 

 

“Anybody out there? Bruce? Steve? I think I’m lost and it’s getting really dark...”

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky has to clench his teeth against the noise that threatens to claw its way out of his throat when Steve finally pushes into him with the aid of some of that cooking oil they’d snagged on the way up. It’s hot and gritty and on the verge of being too much, but he hikes a leg over Steve’s hip and shoves blindly against him anyway, relishing the pain.

“Buck, wait,” Steve sounds a little panicked, but Bucky shakes head and wriggles closer.

“We can go slow later, I need it hard right now,” He bites Steve’s left earlobe and feels the dick inside him twitch, "come on big guy, I wanna feel you for days.”

Steve growls, actually growls like a goddamn animal and grabs him around the waist with those big hands. The first hard thrust punches the breath out Bucky, the explosive spark of pain and pleasure racing down his spine to pool in his groin. Steve’s warm and solid above him, pupils blown so wide his eyes look black in the dimly-lit bedroom they’d blindly stumbled into.

“F-fuck,” Bucky sobs and comes all over himself. Steve doesn’t stop, and the orgasm seems to go on forever when he wraps a hand around Bucky’s oversensitive cock and relentlessly jerks him through it.

“Too much,” He hiccups around the fingers of Steve’s other hand, _“don’t stop.”_

Steve smiles, leans down to press a kiss to his sweaty temple, and flips him over neatly onto his knees. Bucky arches his spine with curse when Steve slides back inside. It’s a hell lot easier this time. He’s fucked open and slick, and Christ, Steve’s still rock hard and pounding into his prostate with each punishing slaps of his hips against Bucky’s ass. His vision is starting to blur, the edges blackening as Bucky drools into the sheets.

His whole body seizes when Steve presses his knuckles against his perineum and fucks in as deep as he can get at the same time. Steve holds him through the second toe-curling orgasm. Bucky’s shaking so hard his knees are slipping on the bed, but Steve keeps stock-still until he comes down from the high enough to unlock his jaw and stutter, “t-thought you said you’d n-never been with a man before.”

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it,” He says, sounding way too composed for Bucky’s liking. He yelps when Steve slaps him on the rear and pulls his body upright like he weighs nothing and wraps a rough hand around Bucky soft cock again.

“What else have you thought about?” He whimpers, abdominal muscles rippling as Steve runs his thumb over the leaking head.

“Oh, I’ve thought about a lot of things I wanted to do with you, Buck,” Steve murmurs silkily in his ear. Bucky’s head lolls onto Steve’s shoulder. He closes his eyes.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

 

* * *

 

“That’s the last of it.” Loki announces. “Have a look.”

“I still have both of my ears attached,” Thor muses, rubbing a hand over his clean-shaven jaw and eyeing his fresh haircut critically, “job well done, brother mine.”

Loki bows mockingly in the mirror’s reflection.

Thor smiles sadly, “Did you know?” 

“That a version of me in this timeline died at the hands of the Mad Titan?” Loki asks, “yes.”

Thor passes a shaking hand over his face. “Were you also aware that it was me that you died to protect?” 

“That part was a little hard to stomach. Seems as though I have gone soft in my exile.” 

“Had,” Thor corrects for him, eyes red-rimmed. 

“Have,” Loki repeats, “why else would I be here staring at your unbearable mug?”

Thor laughs hoarsely. 

“So what now?” He asks, turning to his younger sibling, “will you leave again?”

“I might,” Loki says vaguely. “What about you? Staying, I presume.”

“I don’t know anymore,” Thor sighs, taking a seat on the toilet lid, “I never wanted to be King, Loki. I just want things to go back to the way they were before Mother and Father died. Before, when I could roam the Nine Realms and go on these ridiculous adventures with you and drinking so much I pass out.”

“And wake up facedown in horse shit like you usually wind up doing?” Loki lifts a brow.

“Not the horse shit part,” Thor laughs, “I don’t miss that, but I do miss your company, brother.”

“The night is still young,” Loki says lazily, arms folded over his chest, “and I did see two fully functional spaceships parked outside the city.”

Thor frowns. “What are you saying, Loki?”

“You know exactly what I’m saying, Thor,” Loki counters.

“But who would watch over New Asgard?”

“You also know the answer to that question.”

“Are you reading my mind again?” Thor huffs, reddening a little in embarrassment, “fine, I’ll write a note to Brunnhilde and King T’Challa.”

Loki smirks when Thor sighs and walks out into his temporary quarters in search of pen and paper.

“By the way, we should steal Quill’s ship,” He tells his younger brother after they slip the sloppily-written note under T’Challa’s door. “He’s going to shit himself when he finds out.”

“What have you become, Thor?” Loki shakes his head and laughs.

“Me,” Thor grins back, bright and excited for the first time since forever, “I’ve become me.”

 

* * *

 

“Not gonna head back to see your family, Clint?” Natasha asks. They’re standing on a balcony in the palace overlooking the glowing city below.

 _“You are my family, Nat,”_ Clint replies and feels her lay her head against his shoulder.

 

* * *

 

“We should go see the Grand Canyon, Buck.”

“I think you broke me.”

“Remember how you used to flirt with the dames and promise to take them? I used to wish you’d look at me the way you did them.”

“None of the dames have a penis the length of my forearm. I feel like I just had an hour-long colonoscopy without any propofol.”

“Buck!”

“Kidding, I’m kidding,” Bucky laughs and flops onto Steve’s chest like a landed fish. “Sure, I’ll take you. We can do one of them road trips and post the pictures on Instagram like the young folks do these days.”

“What do you know about young folks these days,” Steve pinches him on the butt.

“I know you’re not one of them, you old fart,” Bucky returns gleefully, hopping out of bed before Steve can pin him down again. His legs nearly give out, but he’s the goddamn Winter Soldier, he’s not going to lose all of his dignity to Steve’s massive dong. Bucky’s putting on his shirt when he notices the slip of paper under the door. It hadn’t been there when they’d stumbled inside and kicked it shut.

“Hey, whose room do you think we’re in?” Steve asks, sitting up.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky breathes when he reads the words **_Dear King T’Challa_ **scrawled over the top of the page. He twists to smile stiffly at a puzzled Steve, “hey doll, how about we take that trip now? You know, preferably before T’Challa finds out we just had sex in his bed.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Rhodey says to Scott and Hope, “any of you seen Sam around?”

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> I will still finish my WIPs, but as I've mentioned, this is my last new MCU fic. Still can't believe the first Spideypool fic I published now has over 17.3k kudos. Thank you guys for coming along with me on this incredible journey.
> 
> Feel free to shout at me about Endgame in the comments.
> 
> Vietnamese translation: https://www.wattpad.com/730042381-stucky-fic-d%E1%BB%8Bch-r18-and-i-think-to-myself-what-a


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